


(I would like) Your Touch

by nanero11



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Affection, Fluff, Forehead Touching, Hugs, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanero11/pseuds/nanero11
Summary: Geralt has never been one to show affection, well at least not in the way that other people do.Or, Geralt doesn't know how to affection or use his words, but he's gonna try
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 53
Kudos: 541





	(I would like) Your Touch

Geralt has never been one to show affection, well at least not in the way that other people do. When he cares about someone, he struggles to show them, let alone tell them. Words are not his friend. He’d rather provide for them, hunt for them, cook their meals, make sure they have a place to sleep. He finds that when people expect something of him, perhaps a hug, maybe a declaration of how he feels, it’s extremely difficult for him to reciprocate. And this simple fact has never been more apparent than when he is with Jaskier.

The bard, Geralt’s noticed, is an extremely affectionate person who prefers to show his love through touch. What this means for Geralt is after getting back from a hunt he’s prepared to get bombarded with hugs, and after Jaskier is done preforming at a tavern he’s ready for him to hook their arms together and drag them to their room, and after they lay down to sleep for the night he’s set for Jaskier to snuggle in close to Geralt like he always does.

Or at least, like he always _used_ to. Because recently Jaskier hasn’t been touching Geralt as much. Hasn’t been patting Geralt’s shoulders and knees or been leaning against him as they sit next to each other. Hasn’t been grabbing Geralt’s hand or looping his arm around his waist to bring him places. Hasn’t been slinging his arm around the Witcher’s shoulders so he can hang off of him or nudging Geralt to get his attention like usual.

At first Geralt didn’t think much of it, but as days dragged on and turned into weeks of much less contact between them than usual, it became something he just couldn’t ignore anymore. Especially because it wasn’t just the fact that he missed all of Jaskier’s touches that was bothering him—and the truth of it was that he really did love all of Jaskier’s affection, even if he only stood there and took it and acted like he didn’t want it—but something about the bard’s movements clued Geralt into how strange the whole situation really was.

The way Jaskier would reach out for Geralt and then stop, the way he would grab Geralt and then let him go right after instead of clinging to him, the way he would approach Geralt for a hug and then seem to think better of it and shove his hands in his pockets instead. It was as if the bard truly did want to hold Geralt, to touch him, but something, and Geralt couldn’t even imagine what, was stopping him.

And now, after at least a month of this behavior, they were on the road again, traveling together. Geralt had spent the entire time they were setting up their camp considering if he ought to ask Jaskier about this change between them, but the thought of bringing it up brought a bout of nervousness over him, for a couple of reasons.

First, he didn’t even know how he would approach that conversation. How was he supposed to bring up the fact that for some reason he struggles with being affectionate? That he doesn’t even know why he does? It’s not like he has any excuse to be bad at it. And that he feels ashamed when Jaskier hugs him because he has to fight the conflicting urges of wanting to push the bard off, while at the same time just wanting to sink into the embrace, which confuses him beyond belief.

Second, if he did talk to Jaskier about this, he knew he would have to admit how much he desired Jaskier’s touches. How much he looked forward to the hug he knew was waiting for him when he got back from a hunt. How much he found himself longing for a warm body to press against his at night. How much he appreciated Jaskier massaging his aching muscles and running his fingers through his tangled hair. These feelings he had, he liked to keep them buried down along with the rest of his repressed emotions, and having to be open about it, having to be vulnerable and voice them aloud, he didn’t know if he could do that.

Third, Geralt still had no idea what was causing Jaskier to hold himself back from touching him. He’d spun so many different possibilities in his mind, each of them leading Geralt to believe that it is something he must’ve done. And it’s excruciatingly frustrating to him that he can’t think of anything he’d done that could’ve caused this outcome, which made him realize once more, that this really is something he’d have to ask Jaskier about.

“Geralt, what’s on your mind?”

The Witcher looked up from their bedrolls that he had been setting up. While he’d been thinking he’d laid them out and smoothed them down over and over, apparently enough times that Jaskier had decided something was troubling Geralt.

“Hm.” He grunted out. This was it. This was his chance to bring it up. To ask Jaskier what he’d done, how he could fix it, and to tell Jaskier how he felt, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what to say.

Was he supposed to straight up question Jaskier on why he wasn’t touching Geralt? That seemed too forward, almost accusatory, and he didn’t want to come across that strong. Was he supposed to lead into by explaining how he felt about affection? That seemed the better way to do it, but still he didn’t know how he’d bring that up because saying _oh, by the way, Jaskier, I have issues with touching people, but I like it when you touch me_ didn’t seem like it made any sense. Maybe there was a way he could get Jaskier to mention it.

“Jaskier, there’s…been a change between us and I…I don’t know what I did, but if you just tell me, I’ll fix it.”

The bard stared at him, his brow furrowing in confusion. He seemed to think for a moment, before plopping down on his bedroll so he was on Geralt’s level. “Geralt, I have no idea what you are talking about. What change?”

Great. So maybe Geralt was the one that was going to have to bring it up after all.

“You know,” Geralt gestured between them, and Jaskier just shook his head slightly, still not understanding, and, gods, Geralt couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “You haven’t been—” _touching me_. The words stuck in his throat and as much as he tried to force them out they wouldn’t, so he just swallowed them down instead. “Nevermind.”

He stood, going over to Roach so he could get his hunting knives out of his pack. Shame burned in him, and in that moment he hated himself for how incompetent he was, because he was the one with the problem, and he’d obviously done something to cause this issue between him and Jaskier, and _still_ he couldn’t say it, couldn’t remedy this thing between them.

And now, he figured he should try to show Jaskier he cared. At least, in the only way he knew how. Because if there was anything Geralt was good at that he was actually capable of doing, instead of attempting to struggle with words or force himself to initiate contact, it was hunting and cooking their dinner.

“ _Geralt_.” Jaskier had followed him to the edge of their camp and when the Witcher cast a glance back at him he noticed the bard’s hand hovering in the air between them, halted in its motion to grab Geralt and keep him from leaving. “Where are you going?”

“Hunting.” Geralt glared at Jaskier’s hand as it hovered there in the air. _Why?_ Why couldn’t Jaskier just reach out and grab him? What was stopping him?

Jaskier’s eyes widened at the glare and he snatched his hand back, bringing it to his chest. He worked his lip between his teeth, before narrowing his eyes at Geralt. “You’re seriously just going to go? We were in the middle of a conversation.”

Geralt just huffed and continued to stalk away.

“Geralt! Just tell me what’s going on.”

He turned back once more to spare another look at Jaskier. The bard was wringing his hands, a small frown on his face, but he met Geralt’s eyes with an intense, almost challenging gaze.

“If you don’t tell me then I don’t know. I can’t read your mind.”

Oh, how much easier this would be if Jaskier could just read his mind and see what he wanted to tell him, see how Geralt felt. If there was only some way he could show Jaskier what he was feeling without having to say it because clearly catching and making Jaskier dinner wasn’t going to be enough.

An idea blossomed in his head. Something he’d never done before, but thought that maybe, just maybe, he _could_ do, and maybe, just maybe, Jaskier might understand something from it. Anxiety fluttered in his gut at the idea of what he was about to do, but he ignored it, trying his best to focus on walking over to Jaskier and actually _acting_ on his plan.

Jaskier watched Geralt curiously as the Witcher approached him and he let out a short gasp as Geralt clasped his hand on the back of his neck. He stared into Jaskier’s eyes for a moment, as a confused expression took over Jaskier’s face.

“Geralt, wha—”

And then Geralt closed his eyes, because not looking might give him some strength and he was already too far into this to stop. He pressed his forehead gently against Jaskier’s, holding them close for just a moment, before pulling away.

For a couple of seconds it was quiet between them, just Jaskier’s wide surprised eyes looking at him as the bard reached up to his face and brushed his fingertips across where their foreheads had met. Then, Geralt made an unceremonious grunt as he pulled his hand away from Jaskier’s neck.

“Geralt—I—What is that supposed to mean?”

The Witcher turned away from Jaskier, not sure if he could say what needed to be said directly to the bard’s face and Jaskier grabbed his hand, apparently thinking that Geralt was going to try to escape again, and just that little bit of contact gave Geralt the last push he needed to finally let the words out, muffled and gruff and whispered as they were.

“You haven’t been touching me.”

“Oh.”

“I…so what I was trying to say earlier is…I don’t know what I did.”

“ _Oh_.”

“If you just tell me—”

“Geralt, you— trust me, Dear, you haven’t done anything. Well…that’s exactly it actually, you haven’t _done_ anything.” Jaskier cut him off and said his reply like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but to Geralt it was just confusing. He hadn’t _done_ anything?

“What?”

“Look at me.” And Jaskier waited until Geralt had finally turned his gaze upon him before speaking again. “What I mean is, when I touch you or hug you or whatever, what I’ve noticed is that you don’t really…well you don’t really reciprocate. I guess I just assumed you didn’t like it. I—”

And Geralt couldn’t help himself anymore, because suddenly all his feelings, all his words, were pushing themselves up and out of him like a waterfall. He couldn’t contain them anymore. He gripped Jaskier’s hand in his and blurted out, “I do! I—” He faltered for a second, but the surge of words shoved themselves out of him anyways, “— _I like it when you touch me_.”

There. He had finally done it. Finally let it out. And he had expected to feel a crushing sensation of uneasiness, but instead he was hit with a rush of relief because it was finally, _finally_ out.

The relief was short lived though, as most good things in Geralt’s life tend to be, because an anxious rush of _what if that came out weird? what if Jaskier doesn’t understand? what if he still won’t touch me after this?_ came over him all at once.

His eyes darted erratically over Jaskier’s face, trying to determine what the bard was thinking, taking in the soft smile and slightly furrowed brow on his face.

Jaskier breathed out a faint, “Oh, Geralt.” And then he was exploding forward, tugging Geralt into a hug. Geralt let out a sharp exhale as the bard took him into his arms, and he felt his eyes beginning to water and he had no idea why.

He melted into the embrace, letting his head fall ungracefully on Jaskier’s shoulder as he buried his face into the bard’s neck, scrunching his eyes shut so that the tears that had so strangely and confusingly came on didn’t leak out.

For a moment Jaskier’s hands slid off of his back and Geralt let out a distressed noise at the thought of the hug being over so soon—he never wanted it to end, he had been aching for this all month after all—, but the bard just shushed him and reached down, grabbing Geralt’s limp arms, dragging them slowly up, and wrapping them around his waist, before resuming his hold on Geralt.

It…felt weird, having his arms wound around Jaskier, returning the hug, but he realized it wasn’t a bad weird. He tightened his grip, squishing Jaskier against him, to which the bard let out a small yelp that dissolved into giggles as he squeezed the Witcher back, and Geralt couldn’t help but let out a bark of laughter as well.

They stood there, holding each other, for what must’ve been at least a couple of minutes, but to Geralt it felt like only a few seconds had passed by the time Jaskier loosened his grip, trailing his hands away from Geralt’s back and down his arms until he could grip the Witcher’s hands in his.

“Now _that_ , Geralt, is how you hug someone.” The bard’s expression was light and full of joy, his smile and happiness radiating off of him in what must’ve been infectious waves, because Geralt soon felt the corners of his own mouth turning up into a huge grin.

Jaskier let out a sigh, using the grip he had on Geralt’s hands to lead the Witcher back into the camp. Pulling them down onto their bedrolls, he wrapped an arm around Geralt’s shoulders drawing the Witcher in close.

“You’ve been suffering this past month, haven’t you?”

Geralt grunted in response.

“Sorry, Dear. I shouldn’t have just assumed you didn’t like it…I just didn’t want to do anything that made you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not uncomfortable,” Geralt grumbled, and to emphasize his point he leaned his weight against Jaskier.

The bard just laughed. Geralt liked Jaskier’s laugh almost as much as he liked Jaskier’s touch, it was high and airy, and it made something in his chest feel warm and fuzzy.

“Well I know that _now_.” Jaskier looked at him, the glint in his eyes only amplified by the light of the setting sun, causing them to shine. “You should have said something sooner, you oaf.”

Geralt let out a hum, content to let the conversation die away as he relaxed further into Jaskier’s side. Yes, he really should have said something sooner.

**Author's Note:**

> I love kudos and comments. pls let me know what you think :)


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